


tales told by dead friends

by sodun



Series: rarl oneshots [7]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Divergent Timelines, Letters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 16:37:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10495080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodun/pseuds/sodun
Summary: The house is silent, and Carl isn't sure what he's doing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from mayday parade's tales told by dead friends ep

The house is silent, and Carl isn’t sure what he’s doing.

There’s no reason for him to be in the vacant house he’d never entered prior to this day. His heart races a little bit as he takes off his boots and thinks about someone finding him here. They’d ask what he’s doing, surely, and Carl doesn’t know. He and Ron were friends, but that doesn’t give Carl a warrant to search the dead boy’s house.

Once his boots are placed neatly next to the door, just like Carl leaves his shoes in his own home, he crosses the room and climbs the stairs. They creak quietly under his weight, the only sound to be heard in the house, and Carl shivers. It’s an eerie sound, and it reminds him that everything in the house belongs to dead people.

Ron’s bedroom is the same as Carl remembers it. A TV and video game system on one wall, across from his unmade bed. Clothes are left in heaps on the floor, a few t-shirts and a pair of pants. There’s some posters on a the walls, and the light above Carl’s head is dim and dying. The desk next to Ron’s bed has papers, pencils, books, and other miscellaneous things scattered across it. 

Carl doesn’t know what he came for, and once he stands in the doorway of the empty room, he doesn’t know what to do. Part of him wants to leave, to go home and forget about his dead friend. It’s been months, after all. Another part of him tells him to stay, to be comforted by his obviously lived-in room and pretend nothing has changed. 

Carl chooses the latter.

He sits in the middle of the bed, careful not to disturb the pillows or blanket. The bed frame groans as he settles on the springy mattress, so he stills, even though he knows it’s not going to disturb anyone, that there’s no one to disturb. 

As he relaxes against the headboard, his eye flickers around the room. He remembers when he first met Ron, and they played video games for an afternoon, with Mikey and Enid. A quiet chuckle falls from his lips as he thinks about how different things are now; Mikey won’t talk to him, Enid’s been gone for a good month or so, and Ron is dead.

The quiet of the house is unsettling. His own home is never this quiet, no where in Alexandria is, really, and this is the first time he’s been in this house and not heard Sam listening to music, or Jessie making dinner, or Ron talking to him. The silence is uncomfortable, and Carl wishes someone would make some noise.

His eye falls upon a paper on Ron’s desk. It’s been folded accordion style three times, and there’s something scribbled on the top. A name, probably.

Carl knows he shouldn’t look, shouldn’t invade Ron’s privacy, but who is going to stop him? Who will know?

He doesn’t have to stand up to reach the paper, just leans to his left a little and pinches it between to fingers.

The name on the front, to Carl’s surprise, is his.

Some of the guilt he was feeling for reading the letter subsides. It’s addressed to him, so he figures he was supposed to read it at some point.

Once he unfolds the paper, he finds the page is covered in messy handwriting, with some words crossed out here and there. There’s a date on the top corner, October 16th. Carl doesn’t keep track of the days, but he knows it’s spring, and that Ron died in January. 

Carl focuses on that date for a moment. That’s two months this had been sitting on his desk. _Why didn’t he give this to me?_ Carl thinks, furrowing his eyebrows. They hung out all the time back then, Ron had ample opportunity to give him this letter.

After exhaling a deep breath, Carl reads the letter.

_Carl,_

_I know what I want to say but I don’t know how to say it. Guess that’s why I barely passed English class. Writing will be easier than saying this to your face though, so.. yeah._

_I’ve been so drawn to you since the moment I met you. I don’t know what it is but I’ve just wanted to be around you all the time since that day. Even though my dad says not to, tells me to stay away from your people, I just want to be near you. That sounds kind of creepy._

_Anyway, basically, I like you a lot. ~~I think I might even be in love with you.~~ I don’t know if you’re even into guys that way, and even if you are I’m pretty sure you aren’t into me that way, but yeah. I like you a lot. In a more than friends way. I feel like I should tell you because for all we know, we could die tomorrow, and I want you to know._

_If you don’t feel the same about me, I hope this doesn’t change anything. I hope we can just forget about this and go back to normal._

_I think that’s all I wanted to say. I don’t really know how to end this so.. Yeah. Bye?_

_-Ron_

_ps you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen_

_pps i hope that wasn’t weird_

Carl isn’t sure if he should laugh or cry. All this time, those months that they were friends and when they hated each other, Ron liked him? _Loved_ him?

Carl decides to do both, forcing out a shocked laugh as tears begin to blur his vision. He tugs a hand through his messy hair as he blinks them away and begins to look over the letter again. 

Carl thinks he should’ve noticed. Ron always behaved differently with Carl, always wanted to be close to him, touch him, always smiled a lot more when it was just the two of them. It was obvious, yet he was oblivious. Carl isn’t sure if he loves Ron, if he ever did, but he’s certain he feels something for him. Something more than friendly love.

Carl folds the paper back up, tucking it into the pocket of his jeans. The silence of the house is heavier when he’s leaving than it was when he entered. Rather than leaving out the front, Carl sneaks out the back, avoiding the main streets. He doesn’t want to be seen, doesn’t want to talk to anyone.

Once he’s back in the safety of his bedroom, he pulls out the letter. With the pointer finger of his free hand, Carl draws an invisible line over the one line that he can’t get out of his head. 

_For all we know, we could die tomorrow._


End file.
